My Job Here is Done

The Squeeze and I have been dating for a while now, going on four years, I guess.  And that's just this time!  Over the years, I've told him repeatedly that I don't cook, I don't like to cook, I can't cook.

Confession:  I can cook just fine.  I just didn't want him--or anyone--expecting me to cook all the time.  Or ever, really.  Sometimes (usually) I'm cool with having a bowl of cereal and letting anyone else fend for themselves.

But, now that I'm living so far from my parents that I can't visit them regularly just for comfort food, I've been cooking a bit more regularly.  I've cooked like, three times in the last two weeks, and he hasn't tried a single bite. 

First, it was bean soup, and I thought, okay, maybe he doesn't like bean soup.  Then it was home-made mini pizzas, which I was sure would be a hit.  They were pretty darn tasty.  Nope.  But then, they did have whole-wheat crusts, so maybe that scared him away.  Spaghetti.  Everybody likes spaghetti, right?  I even cooked meat for it.  (I'm not a vegetarian, meat is just expensive and takes a whole 'nother step to prepare and one more dish to wash.)  So the spaghetti was, you know, manly.

It was also a no-go.

Want to know what I think?  Well, you're here, so I'm going to take that as a yes.

I think I did my job too well.  I have convinced him that I don't cook, I don't like to cook, I can't cook.

The Squeeze is absolutely terrified of eating anything I've had a hand in preparing.  And he really doesn't even have any reason, if you overlook the fact that that's what I've told him a whole bunch of times, and that one time I made pancakes and he puked for hours.

That could have just been a bug, you know.


(True:  My specialties are Kraft Mac'n'Cheese and frozen pizza.  I should totally have a contract with Food Network.  (That's a thing, right?  Food Network?))

Coco isn't a picky eater.